


dennis fucking dies

by peraltiagoisland



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: (but it's not like triggering imo), M/M, anyway uh... here's my thing, but i wouldn't call this fic pure giggles and hahas, i do make an embarrassing amount of ghost and death jokes tho, it started out mostly as a joke bc of the s13 paranormal promos, rape mention, so thats fun!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 00:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18021458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peraltiagoisland/pseuds/peraltiagoisland
Summary: One night in North Dakota, Dennis realizes he's made a huge mistake. But fixing mistakes can sometimes lead to accidents, and accidents can sometimes lead to death. Finding out you've been in love with your best friend the whole time can be hard, especially if you die hours later. Also, ghosts are real.





	dennis fucking dies

It’s a calm after a storm when he finally realizes it. This, trying to be part of a clean-cut average American family living in _North Dakota_ of all places, it’s been a mistake. He feels like a new person when he tells Mandy he’s sorry and needs to leave, he feels healed and refreshed and he no longer suffocates under the weight of lies he’s told himself. He feels free. And after a fashion, happy. The layers of alcoholism, though existent still, fall apart just enough to release the secrets he’s been keeping. He knows it now, accepts it now, embraces it now, and he’s going to tackle it head on. 

Dennis is in love with Mac. And if he wants this semblance of happiness to continue, he has to go back to Philadelphia, and live out his days with the love of his life. Finally, finally, he’s figured it out.

The journey back to Philadelphia is the most pleasant one he’s ever had. He finds it easier to be nicer to others in some moments, more or less he doesn’t run into anyone disgustingly annoying. It’s all great and fantastic, all the way up till he’s actually in Philadelphia. When it happens.

He doesn’t see the truck until it’s a foot away from him, and even then, trying to roll away or escape would’ve been futile because the vehicle collides with his body at a hundred miles per minute, which is an exaggeration, it was probably at most a hundred miles per hour, but to admit that would be to admit he got killed in the same way thousands of people die every year.

Everything goes black and excruciatingly painful.

 

* * *

 

So. One thing’s for sure. If there’s one thing to take away from this incident, one thing he can learn, it is this:

Ghosts are real. Or, out of body experiences are a thing, but Dennis would prefer things greatly if it were the former, because his body is mangled ugly and unrecognizable. Dennis would much rather be dead and in zero pain. So, if this is a test of will to live, and he’s supposed to pass the test by wanting very badly to survive and reflecting on all the things he could’ve done right in his life and how he’d do so much better if he got a second chance...

_Let the man perish._

It’s not like he had anything important to do anyway.

Except go home and confess his undying (well that will ironically never be true now given his condition) love. And have sex. Because god knows he’s been itching for that. Fuck. Maybe he should’ve begged god for his life or whatever. Or maybe not. Given his severely injured state, having sex would be too much work.

He watches as the driver stumbles out his truck, the useless imbecile with a drinking problem he is (shut up, this is not the time to call Dennis out for being a hypocrite, he’s dead, it’s allowed), and he’s slurring curses in anger and fear. Dennis watches as his lifeless body (he’s pretty sure he’s dead now, no one could survive the injuries he sustained) gets dragged into the back of this guy’s truck.

He drives away, and Dennis follows. He finds it interesting that he’s able to follow, learns that ghosts aren’t necessarily tied to their place of death. So is it their body that ghosts are tied to? Dennis watches as the man dumps his body in a deserted area, throws something on top to cover it up, and he grimaces. Not the ideal burial, but also he can’t really bring himself to care right now.

He watches the heinous asshole drive off recklessly into whatever sad scraps of a life still await them. He hopes they die soon. He doesn’t think they have much time left anyway.

Dennis decides to leave. He finds joy in the fact that he can, he likes the ability to move around on command, gets even happier when he finds that he can move faster than humans, say, at the speed of a car, say, at a hundred miles per minute, say, fast enough to catch up to a truck he feels a certain level of vengeance for.

Before he even realizes it, the truck makes a sharp detour into a tree, and the driver gets thrown out and their body breaks in several places on impact. Against another tree. Where they die. Dennis can tell somehow.

_Did he do that?_ Raising his ghostly hand, Dennis attempts to shut the door of the truck, and finds that it works. He opens it, closes it again. Holy shit. Telekinesis. Now _that’s_ something he can get behind.

He waits in futile for... how long? He’s not sure. The driver’s ghost never comes, which makes Dennis wonder if everyone gets to be a ghost when they die, and then he wonders if ghosts can see each other.

But he gets bored of that thought. Who cares? Ghosts shouldn’t be able to kill other ghosts anyway, he thinks. Once you’re dead, you’re dead, right?

He thinks back to his last destination before he died. Paddy’s Pub. Would it be too painful to go there now, knowing he could never come back as himself and let his presence be known? Somehow, despite no longer having a heart, something aches in longing and he finds himself drawn to return. To go home, to see his... family. Disgusting to say it, but he’s a ghost, so pride be damned and let sentimentality rise where it can be afforded.

He doesn’t even need to open the door to walk in. He doesn’t know if it’s the heat indoors that does it or something deep within, but he’s overcome with warmth when he sees the gang sitting at the bar, drinking. Feels like an average Tuesday. Feels familiar. Feels annoying too, because the gang shouldn’t be the gang without him.

“Hey guys, I’m back,” he says experimentally, but isn’t surprised when no one says anything in response. If he’s never heard a ghost talk, why would the gang be able to hear him now? Still, he tries again, drifting in between all of them.

“Hey, hello,” he says, randomly and in different voices and intonations. “Yo, see me? Can you see me? You can’t, can you? Man, you’re all drunk as shit.”

It starts to get annoying after a while. And by ‘a while’, he means very quickly it gets stupid and embarrassing to keep talking to them. They all feel so closed off. He starts to wonder if there are ways to communicate with the gang that don’t rely on talking. Maybe he could freak them out a bit, make them think the bar’s haunted. That would be fun, right?

It’s hard at first. He realizes his telekinesis is weaker now, and deduces that perhaps it was strong when dealing with his killer (who he has now accidentally killed) because he had like... ghost revenge points or something. Built up karma. It takes him forever to move so much as a glass. And when he does, it goes ignored. He moves Frank’s glass over and over until he’s plagued by the ghost version of exhaustion, and then he tries flickering the lights. Slamming some doors when no customers are in. Nothing. Charlie doesn’t even bother checking the circuits. It’s like they don’t care about running a functioning bar anymore.

“Do those even work?” he watches as Charlie points at Frank’s glasses.

“Yeah they work,” Frank says, defending his glasses. “Still can’t see everything right but they work.”

“Let me have a crack at them,” Charlie reaches over.

“Go ahead, have at it,” Frank hands his glasses over. They must really be starved for entertainment without him, Dennis thinks, rolling his eyes. Wait, does he even have eyes anymore? Whatever. He doesn’t care.

“Woah!” Charlie’s eyes widen then blink carefully, as if afraid of hurting his eyes with the glasses. “Frank, you’re crazy blind. You okay man?”

“I make do,” he shrugs.

“Oh wow, yeah, these are bad,” Dee winces as she tries them on. “Yeah, I hate that. Frank, you should get your glasses changed.”

“What’s the point? My eyes’ll just get worse again and it’s never gonna end.”

“Let me have a go,” Mac puts them on, blinks a few times, then adjusts to the strange vision. Dennis frowns. He hates how good Mac looks in the glasses. Especially—wait—did Mac get more tan? He looks stockier, and in the good way, which is so fucking annoying. The one time Mac actually decides to work out and get ripped, the one time Dennis realizes he wants Mac too, and he fucking _dies?_ That’s just a load of bullshit.

“Oh shit dude!” he looks up at Charlie. “You look good in that!”

“Yeah, wow, can’t believe I’m saying this but–“ Dee’s eyes widen with zero attraction towards Mac–“Charlie’s right.”

“Should I get glasses?”

“No.”

“Nah, dude.”

Dennis involuntarily slams his fist down on the bar, but this causes a chair from behind the bar to go flying at a booth. The gang turns around at the sound and for a moment he worries that he’s overreacted and gone too far. But then all of them turn around and keep talking like nothing’s happened.

What? They’re _morons_ , all of them. How have they survived this far into life and Dennis is the one lying dead under a burlap sack? He gives up. This is it. He doesn’t care anymore. Why did he even bother trying to scare them? Send them a message from beyond? He could’ve walked right in completely alive and well and they’d just turn around after one look to continue whatever it was they were doing.

Upset and inconsolable (largely because there is literally no one around to console him because he genuinely is all alone for the first time), he sits down at the booth and begins nursing down a beer. Wait. Fuck. This beer is half empty.

Wait. No! How is he drinking beer? He looks at his hands, frantic, realizes he _has_ hands, suddenly, realizes that these hands aren’t his own, realizes his head isn’t his–

Oh fuck. Oh for fuck’s sake. He’s just possessed this man.

Tentatively, he stands up. He looks at this disgusting filthy man and he cracks his knuckles. He feels... alive again. Albeit in a dead way, because seriously, this guy seems like he’s seconds away from death himself. Dennis probably saved his life by doing this. He picks the beer back up, looking at it questioningly. Would it be gross to keep drinking this?

He walks up to the bar and begins making himself a mojito. Not exactly his go to drink, but he likes to explore. Maybe having a different tongue means different preferences. This time they all stare him down like he’s a criminal. Fucking finally. Some attention from the self-absorbed assholes.

“Uh... Homeless Dave? What are you doing behind the bar dude?”

“That’s Dave?”

“Yeah, that’s Dave. Who’d you think it was?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen that man in my life.”

“Oh, I’m not Dave,” Dennis interrupts, hating how his voice doesn’t sound like his own, so he doesn’t elaborate.

“Of course you’re not Dave. We don’t know a Dave,” Dee’s forehead wrinkles nervously as she watches him make their signature cocktail. Surely they must be having their suspicions about this whole thing. Dennis gives her a smile and she seems almost like she knows what’s happening.

“Uh, okay Dee, why don’t you like, speak for yourself, ‘cuz I know tons of Daves–“

“Oh, name _one_ Dave!”

“Homeless Dave is standing right here before our eyes!”

“That’s not Dave!”

“I think he hangs under the bridge,” Frank says, squinting at Dennis. “He probably followed us here one night.”

“But _is_ his name Dave?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay!” Mac stands up, attempting to end this once and for all. He makes eye contact with Dennis. “Hey, man, look. What’s your name?”

“Is it Dave?”

“Charlie, how many times do we have to say this! It’s not Dave!”

“How do you know that, you bitch?”

“I know because he said his name wasn’t Dave seconds ago!”

Mac raises his hand up to stop Dee from being shrill. Oh god that bitch is screechy. Dennis is dead and he still has to deal with her being all annoying. Even though she is right and he did say he wasn’t Dave.

“Okay. I’m gonna end this.” He looks at Dennis again. “ _Is_ your name Dave?”

“HE JUST–“

“It is Dave.”

“What?”

Dennis can’t help but laugh at Dee’s reaction. She’s enraged and this close to losing it. “Okay fine, it’s not. But the look on your face–“

The rest of them laugh, and Dee looks annoyed. “Yeah!”

“That look, that look was super funny–“

“I’m not Dave, but I’m not sure who this guy is,” he points to his... what do they call it in shows uh... host? Meatsuit? Forget it. Let’s pretend this guy is Dave. He points to Dave’s body. “Guys, it’s me. It’s Dennis.”

Their reactions range from appalled to shocked to downright hurt. And then suddenly, they all start laughing.

“What, what’s so funny? Guys, okay,” he sighs, “yes, I get it, this all seems weird as shit, I’d have my doubts too. But it’s me. I’m dead and I... guess I’m a ghost or something now and I’m possessing this dude. He’s gross as shit but it’s pretty neat.”

They begin to laugh even harder.

“Dude, how much is Dennis paying you, man?”

“Oh, this is rich. This is rich. Can you believe this guy? He’s out there in North Dakota and playing pranks on us?”

“Guy must be bored as shit up there to pull this.” Frank looks almost impressed. “How’d he find you?”

“Is Dennis back in town?” Mac asks hopefully. “Is he coming back soon?”

“Oh, Mac, come on–“

“I mean, you guys, this could be a message from Dennis! I think he’s coming back and just doesn’t want us to be too shocked when–“

“Give it a rest dude! He gave you a fake number for a reason–“

“THAT WASN’T A FAKE NUMBER YOU BITCH HE JUST WROTE IT DOWN WRONG–“

“Oh god, okay, okay, we get it!” Dee presses down on Mac’s shoulders and tries to calm him down and Dennis tightens his fist so hard he feels the fingers in this man’s body break. Oh well. That’s his issue to deal with. “Just calm down,” she looks at Frank, “can you get this guy out?”

Charlie stands up before Frank can say no, moving toward Dennis with a random object he grabs as a supposed weapon he pokes in his direction. “Alright, fun’s over dude, you get outta here now. Tell Dennis to either come back or stop pulling shit–“ he leans in when they’re both at the door–“tell Dennis that was awesome man, I haven’t laughed this hard in a while–“

The door slams in his face and Dennis isn’t sure what to do. Okay, so, revealing himself to the gang while possessing some dude and expecting them to believe he was dead and that ghosts are real probably wasn’t the best idea. But whatever. Their loss. Now he just doesn’t know what to do. He vacates the body he’s starting to grow tired of anyway and watches as the man shrieks in pain. Oh right, the fingers. Dennis knocks him out in a single blow and leaves.

Maybe possessing random homeless men and hanging around the bar isn’t the right idea. Why is he even hanging around Paddy’s at all now that he knows how to possess people? Maybe he could have some fun with this.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t know how ‘having fun with this’ so quickly translated into stalking Mac. He knows he started out genuinely trying to have fun, as in, possessing someone nice-looking to be completely mean to people, possessing someone rich and going on a spending spree for hours, possessing someone with a cute cat so he could hang out with a cute cat, and at some point... he even remembers possessing the bar. He can’t really explain it. At some point, Dennis _was_ the bar.

But the next day, he started following Mac around. Watching him run stupid errands, hanging around the house for hours as he masturbated himself into oblivion (it was only hot up to a point, and then it got repetitive and annoying how long Mac could get off for). He now knows far too much about Mac’s porn preferences. He now knows how his name sounds, rolling off Mac’s lips as he moans incoherently. He now knows Mac’s developed cooking as a hobby, although Dennis wouldn’t say that exactly. He still cooks instant mac and cheese all the time and pats himself on the back for it.

This somehow dissolves into Dennis following Mac to The Rainbow, where Mac gets drink after drink and dances his heart out under decidedly gay neon lights. Oh perfect. Dennis can possess some beefcake and sex with Mac won’t be so impossible now. He looks around for hot guys that he’d be somewhat comfortable being for a night. Yes, _comfortable_ , because no one would be perfect unless they were himself.

Random dudes keep hitting on Mac in the club, which is to be expected, but still. He gets angry and jealous and ready to pounce when he finds that most of the men Mac tends to flirt back at bear striking resemblances to him. Then it gets a bit pathetic, but Dennis thinks he can live with that (even though he’s dead). Maybe Mac will be in love with him forever.

He decides to possess a dude who hasn’t so much as looked at Mac the whole night, taking it as a little experiment to see if Mac would be interested in Dennis even if he inhabited another less attractive body.

“You look like you’ve got moves,” he says, hot against Mac’s neck when he dances up to him. Mac turns around, gives him a once over, and turns around. Fuck. Okay. Maybe he’s gonna have to be a little bit more persistent. After all, he has decades of history with Mac. This random bozo here doesn’t.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Mac turns around again. God, he’s such a goddamn freeloader.

“Maybe.”

Dennis dances up against him, and their hips sway together. He fills up with warmth, likes the way they move in tandem, loves how suggestively they dance. He only has foggy drunk memories, faint little recollections, of them grinding on each other, too wasted to think, only to want, in the past. He thinks it’s almost a pity they’ll never get to admit this has always been what they’ve wanted from each other.

“I like the way you dance,” Mac says softly, seductive, definitely laying it on thick to get free drinks. He’s ridiculous, really. Tons of dudes have already bought him drinks.

“I like your ass,” Dennis slides his hand over the curves, appreciating Mac with his touch, and he hears Mac groan at the contact. “I bet you’d like mine.”

“Oh yeah?” Mac faces him, feeling him up a bit. “Lemme show you something else you’re gonna like.”

Mac leans in and kisses him tender, and Dennis clings on, kissing him back, and the way he feels as Mac moves with him, it’s beyond human. It’s beyond nature. It’s out of this world. Or maybe it’s just Mac. He should’ve been kissing Mac years ago. Maybe he’d still be alive if he did.

Dennis dies again when Mac shoves him suddenly, pushing him away, breaking off the kiss, a look of horror on his face.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t get his answer. Mac runs away faster than he can catch up as a human, and when he catches up in spirit, he sees Mac have a panic attack in the alley near the club. He gets worried. What’s going on with the guy? Dennis doesn’t know what to do. Mac can barely breathe, and for a moment Dennis is afraid that Mac will die. That sends him reeling, and if he were human, he’d get hit with a panic attack too, he feels.

Mac can’t die. Dennis knows death isn’t that bad, but Dennis also knows that Mac dying means Dennis would never see him again, never be able to talk to him again, never see his smile, his laugh, his little tantrums that he best knows to quell. He’d miss Mac so much neither being alive nor dead would be worth it. Can ghosts stop panic attacks? What’s the point of being a spiritual entity if you can’t even stop your best friend from freaking out in alleys?

Dennis tries something he barely remembers doing even when alive. He gives Mac a hug. It’s a bit weird and doesn’t work right because he doesn’t have arms and he can’t even see if he’s hugging Mac because again—no arms. But he’s trying, and Mac starts to breathe again, and then he’s okay.

He pulls out his phone, and Dennis realizes he’s clicking on his contact. He’s calling him. Oh no. Oh, no, no Mac. He can’t pick up. He will never pick up. He’ll never call you again. Please stop dialing.

Suddenly, Dennis has never wanted Mac to hate him more. Suddenly, he wishes Mac never loved him. He wishes he never loved Mac. That would make this—dying—so much easier.

Mac dials again when he doesn’t get an answer and Dennis can’t handle seeing this go on. He smacks the phone right out of Mac’s hand and it shatters against the brick wall. Mac looks shaken, but it’s all held together by his drunkenness, and the best Dennis can hope for is Mac not remembering any of this tomorrow. A complete blackout.

So Dennis makes sure of it.

 

* * *

 

When Mac wakes up, he’s in bed with a hangover, a glass of water and aspirin conveniently laid out on his nightstand, basically no recollection of the night before, and his phone charging, not a scratch.

What he’s unaware of is that he’s been possessed for the last... sixteen hours or so. But he questions not, for blacking out night after night is his new normal. All he knows is working out, getting ripped, and drinking himself half to death.

It’s not pretty to watch. It’s even less pretty, when it hits Dennis that this is his fault. That he caused this. He can try to fix Mac all he wants, he can possess Mac for the rest of his life, but would good would that be? That would make Mac as dead as he. And to inflict that on Mac would be a punishment far greater than his departure. Dennis has feared abandonment his whole life, and it seems almost apt that he’d be the one to leave everyone at the drop of a hat.

Do unto others what you fear they will do unto you first, right?

Mac is pacing his way through the apartment, looking groggy and unkempt, his skin shimmering with all sorts of glitter, his tank top clinging to his body with sweat and unbeknownst to him, tears. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it pretty, just the way Dennis likes it. Even when he’s unaware, Mac is making him happy. He’s a sight to behold, frankly. So sexy. So ripped. So fucking hot.

Dennis misses running his hands over that man. Skin on skin, starting fights with him and winning by getting to touch what he so craves. He misses talking to Mac, singing for Mac, making him laugh, screaming matches that no one could make heads or tails of, not even them after a point. Going on adventures, that they made fun by being together.

Mac is cooking breakfast, singing to himself out of tune and annoying, but endearing also. This is when he hears a knock on the door.

That he ignores.

Oh, well, that’s fair. He is cooking breakfast. And has a sort of headache. Dennis really did a number on him last night. And maybe the knocks aren’t loud enough for Mac to hear them. Mac finishes scrambling his eggs, which he dumps out on a plate, slightly burnt.

The knocks on the door grow ever more loud. Finally, Mac groans, stomping over and pulling the door open.

“Hey,” Dennis says, leaning against the wall all cool and suave in a newly possessed body. This one’s a neighbor, a kind of cute one that would get Mac’s head turning when they passed him in the hallway. Dennis would look too, but he’d tell himself he looked only because Mac did, and he wanted to see what all the fuss was about. “Whatcha cooking?”

To his surprise (and secretly, a bit of delight), Mac frowns. “Why do you care? Who the hell are you?” 

Uh, okay, maybe Mac could turn down the aggression. He appreciates the loyalty, but also, Mac’s making this all so needlessly tedious. Dennis can’t even fuck him without Mac screwing it all up. Typical.

“I’m uh, your neighbor.” Dennis gulps nervously. “We’ve passed each other in the hallway.”

But of course, never introduced himself until now. It kind of always got under Dennis’ nerves how the dude never said a word to them, like he thought he was better than them or something. What an asshole, really, when you think about it. Whatever though. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and he supposes he could use this opportunity to give this dude some manners.

“Oh, right,” Mac nods in recognition, now with his wits about him, giving him a quick scan. “What’s your name?”

Oh fuck. Dennis did not prepare for this. He devised thousands of ways how this conversation could go, and how he could work it to his advantage and seal the deal, and not once did he think that Mac would ask for his name. And not once did Dennis bother to check it before or after he possessed this dude. Fuck.

“My name is–“ his eyes look up in thought–“Ch—Fr... I’m uh. I’m Danish.”

“You’re danish?” Mac snorts. “Man, I don’t know how danish people look, but you don’t look it.”

“I’m–“ Dennis scoffs–“I meant my name is Danish. Like you asked. You know what? Just call me Dan.”

Suddenly, Mac’s eyes widen, then still in fear. He quivers, and the door slams in Dennis’ face.

He’s not sure what to make of it.

Maybe Mac knows this dude’s name? And asking for his name was just a test? Or maybe it was something else. Or maybe Mac hates the name Dan. Maybe Mac hates names. Nope, theory’s getting too ridiculous. Uh... maybe Dennis should find out what this guy’s name really is and try again.

Mac nearly slams the door again when he sees Dennis on the other side of it, knocking relentlessly for attention as Mac scrolled through channels on TV. He blocks it at the last second, making sure to put on the best smile he can muster with this idiot’s face.

“Wait, wait! I lied. I—my name’s not Danish.”

This catches Mac off guard. “What?”

“It’s Connor!” Yeah, stupid name, he knows. Dennis pushes through and then he’s in their apartment. “I’m sorry. I uh, I panicked when you asked.”

“Why would you be scared to tell someone your name?”

“I... really hate the name Connor.”

Mac bursts out laughing at this, and it feels so good to see his eyes crinkle, his head thrown back, fits of chuckles spilling out, the sounds familiar and calming. Reassuring.

“You think Connor’s bad? Dude, you’re gonna go _nuts_ when you hear my name.”

 

* * *

 

They eat mac and cheese for lunch, which Dennis supposes he has to make do with, but he finds he doesn’t have such a distaste for it anymore, not like he used to when it was all he could ever eat everyday. Their days in the suburbs seem far behind them now, sounding more like a horrific tale than a fading memory. But still, he holds on tight to glimpses of it. There was so much yelling, so much rage, he remembers wanting to strangle Mac at some point, he remembers wanting to cave in their neighbor’s head. Yet, there were also the tender moments. Stealing a pair of lawn chairs from next door and lying under the stars, drinking beer, making up constellations, whispering in hushed voices then laughing loud enough to wake up the neighborhood. Finding some peace in the silence and forgetting the uncertainty of tranquility in tiny moments.

Dennis was never one for nostalgia, but some nights back in their big house, they found themselves carefree and aimless again, reminiscent of their teenage years, where they ran wild and played and didn’t have so much of the world crashing down on them. Well, it wasn’t as bad back then. Perhaps it was even good. Perhaps it has always been good, in a way, sometimes, perhaps he was miserable and happy all at once. He got lost along the way, he’s fairly certain he’s always been lost, but Mac—Mac he could always count on to get lost with him. They lost and found themselves in each other, and perhaps they found destiny too. Carved it into each other with codependency and familiarity. Maybe a bit of love as well. Maybe most of it was love. Maybe he was destined to love Mac, and every time he tried to run, he was just taking a longer route back to him.

“You want more?”

Dennis looks up with a “hm?” when Mac breaks him out of his thought spiral, looking between him and his empty plate, then a smile.

“You’ve just been staring at your fork and there’s no more macaroni on your plate. Was it that good?”

Dennis decides to appease him. “Of course. Don’t think I’ve had anything like it.”

Mac’s beam that follows him picking up both their plates is worth the pandering. “For real, man? You want more?”

“Actually,” his fingers tap rhythmically on the table, “I can think of something better to eat.”

“Oh?” he falters. “What?”

“You.”

Dennis leans across the table for a kiss, and Mac responds quick, faster than he’d foreseen, and the plates drop to the table with a sound they ignore, and somehow, scrambling through the sudden maze that is their kitchen, Dennis gets them on the couch, falling down head first, Mac crashing on top in a heap, and instead of pain he feels relief, he feels delight. A lifetime of regret starts to wane with each kiss, and as Mac unbuttons his shirt Dennis thinks that this, _this_ , is the only way to die happy.

Until that is, he moans, and it happens so fast—Mac leaps from him and Dennis is sitting up—asking many single-word questions in succession. Mac looks like he’s seen a ghost, and Dennis begins to worry. This is practically the second time now, no, the third time, actually, and Mac clearly wants whatever he’s giving, so what’s the issue?

“Get, get out,” Mac is breaking out in a cold sweat, his eyes darting around the room, his heart beating a mile a minute (yes, Dennis can hear it, being a ghost is cool but also not the point right now), “get lost, guy,” he blurts, his hands shaking, yet wildly gesticulating to the door, and Dennis stays rooted to the couch.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” he remains firm on this, “you clearly wanted this, Mac, so I’m not leaving until you do.”

Mac still looks like he’s going through some sort of crisis. He appears to be on the verge of another panic attack and Dennis starts to doubt his strategy here.

“Breathe,” he reminds, trying to sound calm. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna get mad, dude.”

Mac takes a seat, and the distance between them is cold and it chills him to the bone. “I think I’m like, cursed or something, man.”

“What does that mean?”

He swallows, exhales with his mouth firmly shut. “It’s. Gotta do with my old roommate. Dennis. I can’t move on and it’s scary. I’m scared, Connor.”

Oh, right. The guy Dennis currently masquerades is named Connor. “Did I... remind you of him?”

“I think–“ he shakes his head–“no, I’m crazy. That’s definitely not it, dude. I’m imagining stuff and having hallu—ha–“

“Hallucinations?”

“Yeah!” He points. “That. It happens every time. Not just you. There was this dude at the club–“

Also Dennis. He’d like an explanation for that as well. “What happened with that guy?”

“The way he kissed, it was just—it felt _exactly_ like Dennis.”

He reacts to this immediately. “You–“ his mouth goes dry–“you’ve kissed your roommate?”

“Few times. We were always drunk.”

Oh wow. This is... news. Apparently being dead doesn’t make Dennis all-knowing. There’s still stuff he hasn’t been privy to. Such as this.

Dennis clears his throat. “Okay.”

“He just felt, it was just the same, somehow, and I’ve kissed other dudes, it’s always different in some way, each time, and this was exactly the same, and I freaked. I just bailed. And then with you... I shut the door on you because–“

“Dan sounds like–"

“Den, yeah. As in short for Dennis. Like a nickname.”

“I get it, Mac.”

Mac clears his throat. “Yeah. I used to call him Den all the time, and then–“

“Why did you stop?”

Mac makes a face of momentary confusion, and Dennis realizes Mac never said anything about stopping. Fuck. But then Mac’s face relaxes again and perhaps the sexiest thing about Mac is how foolish he is.

“It was a long time ago, like maybe over ten years. He told me one night, drunk, that he loved how I called him Den, how it made him feel special or some shit,” he shrugs but he’s blushing. “And he like, kissed me and all that, and it freaked me out ‘cuz I was totally straight back then and wanted none of that. But Dennis was also one of the straightest dudes I knew, he was like, so good at being straight–“

“Oh, I believe so.”

“I knew he wouldn’t believe me if I said anything, he’d make _me_ seem like the gay one, so, I just... stopped calling him that.”

Dennis slowly, silently, inches closer to him. He has vague memories that could challenge this stand. “Not even once? Not even when you were drunk out your mind?”

Mac’s eyes twinkle as he looks down, shy, and then he fully smiles. “Maybe.”

“I bet he has a thing for you,” he says, both to suck up to Mac and because it’s true. “I bet he’d fuck you right here, right now, if he could.”

He plants a kiss, soft and suggestive against his neck, and Mac shuts his eyes, hums in delight. “Mm. Maybe.”

“Oh, it’s not a maybe, baby,” he slides his hand up Mac’s shirt and feels his breath hot against his neck. Dennis feels himself harden, which, thank god, it’d be such a bummer to go to all this trouble only to find himself ghostly impotent. “He’d be crazy to pass up on all this,” he grazes the bulge in Mac’s jeans, “on all of you.”

“Shit–“ Mac lets himself feel, lets himself get felt, touched, pampered by Dennis’ borrowed hands–“you–“

“I know, I’m good,” he bites gently at Mac’s ear and is rewarded with a groan. “Touch me.”

Mac surprises him by grinding against him, and involuntarily, Dennis moans loud and needy, his want overshadowing caution, and it feels so devastatingly good, but ten times more excruciating when hands shove his chest hard, crashing to the ground does he go.

“Ow!” It doesn’t actually hurt , but maybe pretending to be in pain will get him sympathy and sex to smooth things over. “What the hell, dude?”

“You sound too much like him,” he doesn’t even apologize, his fingers grabbing at his hair in frustration, and Dennis knows what the issue is. He really hates drunk alive him for giving Mac an unforgettable taste of what he himself can’t even remember.

“Who cares?” he stands up. “Look, I don’t care, okay? You can call me Dennis if it makes you happy.”

“That’s the thing!” he exclaims. “That’s the whole thing! I can’t get over him, he’s all I think about, I kiss you, I’m thinking about Dennis, I jerk off, I’m thinking about Dennis, I fuck myself on my dildo bike, I’m thinking about Dennis!”

Dennis wants to sigh very heavily, because it’s one thing for Dennis to be Dennis, dead and possessing a guy and pretending to be someone else, but to Mac, he’s a stranger. Why let something like that slip?

“Just lean into it, dude–“

“I can’t,” he seems helpless, breathes like it’s his last, “because every time I think about him, I can’t have anything else,” he sits defeated on the couch. “I don’t want anyone else. It’s always been him. I can’t escape that dude. I can’t win, man.”

Finally, finally, Dennis understands. And it’s fucking frustrating as all hell. Why does this have to be so hard?

 

* * *

 

He’s cracked it now. Not that it was really a mystery, more annoying than anything, but now Dennis knows that he can’t fuck Mac as anything but himself. Which is a real fucking conundrum, because the one and only self he knows is dead and rotting under the hot sun miles away. Even if Dennis managed to possess his own dead body, he’d be too disgusting for Mac to fuck. Dennis himself would be too disgusted. Also, he’s pretty sure his dick no longer works now that his body is a goner.

So the solution? Find someone that looks exactly like him. Or at least, somewhat like him, and tell Mac he got plastic surgery to look uglier or something. He briefly considers that child sex offender who Dee and the neighborhood thought was a splitting image of him, but the thought of having to possess something so disgusting (both physically and spiritually) turns him off the idea enough.

So he goes searching. The world blurs around him as he looks, fast as he can, state after state, picking out candidates and keeping tabs on people he found that could potentially pass off as him.

Until he finds it. The One. The perfect man. The man who looks like him so closely it’s crazy. It blows Dennis’ mind how alike they are in appearance, with only slight differences in hair and style. He can’t believe that all the way down in Toledo, Ohio, sits a high school teacher (who he later finds out is a Harvard graduate) that looks exactly like him.

Perhaps Dee isn’t his only twin.

Dennis observes him for a day or two, more out of fascination than anything, before possessing the man without a hint of guilt. Jack Griffin, who is highly intriguing and a fairly sexy version of himself, seems to care little about actually teaching a bunch of nerd students who look like they’d be better off studying on their own for a bit. Dennis figures a few days off wouldn’t hurt the man, really.

And he really, really needs to have sex with Mac.

He travels all the way from Ohio back to Philly, which is a huge downside to possessing anyone, honestly, but the trip is entirely worth it and Dennis doesn’t get hit by any cars on the way (he already killed his body once, he’d be stupid to let it happen again). He decides he’ll play the regretful returning roommate, confess his love to Mac a little bit, and then they’ll fuck, and when Dennis has had his fill, he’ll leave and let this guy go back to Ohio (just saying it feels gross frankly) until Dennis needs to sleep with Mac again.

He supposes Mac’s devotion to him will negate any need to explain his constant departures and arrivals.

Dennis doesn’t knock when he returns home, he walks right in (the door is unlocked) and gets psyched up and cheery. He can feel it now, it’s going to happen this time, and he feels more like himself than he ever has possessing someone else. He did his hair like he usually would, and ditched the sweatpants for his usual attire.

Except he walks in on Mac weeping on the couch, tissues strewn left and right, a complete mess and Dennis is confused, worried, concerned. What happened? He couldn’t have been gone more than a few days.

“Yo, Mac, what’s wrong, buddy?”

The way his entire body stiffens at Dennis’ voice is terrifying. Mac looks up, shaking, a hard shout bursting through his lungs as he backs up against the wall in terror, like he’s looking at an actual ghost.

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay!” Dennis holds his hands up. “I’m back dude, it’s okay, I know I’ve been off the grid, and that–“

“You’re dead.”

“What?”

Mac says that with such certainty, such clairvoyance, such still eyes, such defeat, it all scares him.

“You’re dead, I saw you, we all did, your body was lying _dead_ in that morgue,” he says all of that in an eerily self-assuring way, like he’s trying to remind himself of facts, of what’s real and what’s not, like he’s trying to dissuade himself from losing his mind. He clearly believes he’s imagining things right now, and that Dennis standing before him and talking to him isn’t real. “We put you in the ground today.”

Shit. Looks like someone found Dennis’ body. He should’ve seen this coming. Why didn’t he hide himself somewhere no one could see? Why didn’t he bury his body himself? This is a whole mess, and now Mac probably thinks he’s schizophrenic or something.

“Mac–“

“Get away from me!” his eyes shift and he grabs at a crucifix, fast and frightened. God. Is that crucifix covered in blood? “You’re not real! You’re not real, go away!”

“Mac, Mac, baby, calm down for me,” he takes steps towards Mac and the latter continues to back away but hits the wall, and Dennis hushes him, tries to calm him down until he stops trying to escape. His hands cup his face gently. “Chill out for me, okay? Breathe. Listen to me.”

Mac swallows, uncertain, yet trusting. Somehow he believes him.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I’m not dead.”

“I saw you rotting in a morgue after the cops called,” he looks defensive now, “if you’re real, and you’re not dead, what the hell did I see? Because that felt real, dude. I know that was you. How am I supposed to believe that this is you too?”

Wordlessly, Dennis leans in and kisses him slow again. Makes him believe with his lips and tongue. Begs him with his touch. Holds his hand and places it on his chest. This is the moment where it all goes wrong.

Mac is pushing him away again.

“What, what? What’s wrong?”

His eyes are wide and frantic. Then suddenly he charges at Dennis and his hands are on his neck, wrists, chest. Weird way to initiate sex but okay.

“Got your fill now?”

“Your heart isn’t beating.”

Oh crap. That’s what’s happening. This is. This is unfortunate. Apparently Dennis is now learning for the first time the hard way that ghosts possessing humans means they have no heartbeat during the possession. Presumably. Maybe Dennis could trick Mac by unpossessing Jack for a bit?

Except when he vacates Jack’s body, the man falls to the ground in a heap, unconscious, and Mac freaks out. Fuck. This isn’t good. Is Jack dead? No, he’s breathing. Shit. This is bad. Mac is having a breakdown.

“Okay, okay, Mac, calm down! I’ll tell you the truth!” he claims desperately, sitting up as he possesses Jack again.

“Dude, if you don’t tell me what’s really going on right now I’m going to flip out! I’ll freak, okay? I’m this close to breaking!”

It sounds so sad to hear him come undone like this, his hair a mess, his face stained with tears still, his eyes swollen from grief and exhaustion. This is wearing him down, and perhaps the jig is up. Why lie anyway?

“You’re right. I’m dead.” Before Mac can say anything, he continues. “But I’m still me. You’re not imagining this.”

“You’re a... ghost?”

“I guess.”

“But you just kissed me, how can you–“ he gulps–“that’s just, that can’t be possible.”

“I know, I’m not an apparition. Right now. I’m possessing this dude. Because you refused to fuck me as anyone else, so I had to find a lookalike.”

His gaze rises. “Anyone else? You mean–“

“Yeah those dudes you kissed over the past few weeks? All me.”

A certain understanding washes over Mac, and following the understanding comes resentment.

“Weeks? You could’ve told me this whole time?”

“I tried to tell you and the gang, idiot, none of you believed me.”

Mac shakes his head. “Not ringing a bell.”

He sighs. “Forget it. But you know I had no choice. I wanted–“ he clears his throat–“I was–“ it’s harder to say it now that he can–“I tried–“

“What, Dennis? Spit it out.”

He can barely breathe now, he feels put on the spot. “Uh...”

“Were you on your way back? From North Dakota?”

“Yeah.”

Mac gives a brief, weak smile. It seems he understands. This frees the hold Dennis has on his own tongue. The weight of his death, the whole series of events that he hasn’t dealt with, but with Mac’s smile, it gets a few pounds lighter.

“I changed my mind. I wanted to come back. Some truck disagreed though.”

Mac grits his teeth. It appears that despite Dennis standing before him in a body that almost exactly resembles his own, his death still hurts the man. “We should find that asshole. Get back at that bitch.”

“I already did,” Dennis declares, and he’s almost proud for committing ghostslaughter. Actually, he is proud. He got his revenge. It was sweet for a second, then he felt like nothingness again. “I got him good.”

“You broke his back?”

“I took his life.”

Mac’s eyes widen. “Oh wow.”

“It was. It was mostly an accident,” he clears his throat, not actually feeling this subject anymore. “Can we forget about it now? I want what I came here for.”

He leans forth and kisses Mac but he doesn’t respond well and Dennis moves away with a frown. “I went to Ohio and back to get this for you.”

“Yeah...” Mac makes a face. “Dude, I don’t think I wanna fuck you as a ghost possessing some dude right now.”

This incenses Dennis. He went to Ohio, for god sakes! _Ohio_. How is Mac not on his knees in gratitude right this second?

“Okay. Are you... aware that we don’t have that much of an alternative?”

“It feels kinda creepy. Can’t wrap my head around it yet.”

Dennis sighs. “Fine.” This dude can stand to take a few days off work, right?

“It’s just–“ he sighs–“dude, I was mourning you a second ago. To me, you were dead. You _are_ dead. I can’t switch gears like that.”

Dennis nods, over and over, upset but willing to go with it.

“Plus the whole thing feels kinda rapey to me.”

Now _this_ he’s not okay with. Dennis flares his eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did you like, ask this guy if he was okay with being possessed and having sex and shit? Because that’s pretty much roofieing him if you didn’t.”

Dennis is enraged. “I am not _roofieing_ this man!”

“You’re possessing him! That’s worse! Does he know what’s going on?”

This confounds him, throws him for a loop. “I, I don’t think any of them ever do, I–“

“Yeah, exactly, dude. Look, if we’re gonna do this, you gotta ask him–“

“And how am I supposed to do that? He can’t _see_ me, Mac!”

“Then I’ll ask him!” Mac shouts. “I don’t wanna rape this dude with you–“

“WE’RE NOT RAPING ANYBODY!”

“We won’t be if we ask this dude permission and he says yes!”

Dennis sits down defiantly on the couch. “That’s just a big waste of time. I’m a ghost, Mac. I can’t rape people if I’m a ghost!”

“You’re just afraid he’ll say no if we ask!”

There is a sudden pounding on their door. Is it neighbors? Is it the cops? Were they talking about rape too loudly?

“Mac? Maaaaaaac!” The slurred dragged out words pitched high and loud indicate a very drunk and very high Charlie on the other side of the door.

Mac and Dennis look at each other in a panic. They both at least can silently agree that it’s not the best time and the best state in which to tell Charlie that ghosts are real and that Dennis is one.

“Dude!” Mac harshly whispers, even though he doesn’t have to say a thing at all. “Hide!”

“I know!”

But then Charlie opens the door somehow (right, Dennis didn’t lock it on his way in either), barrels through it, nearly falling to the floor in the process, and sees Dennis before he can duck behind the couch.

Charlie gags and his eyes are bloodshot and swollen. It seems Dennis’ death has taken a toll on him too. He’s staggering, sees Dennis all too clearly, the image clearly registering in his mind somehow.

“Oh, shit.”

In a second, he drops out cold on the floor, his shirt dirty with bile and puke that missed whatever wall or surface he previously hurled on.

Mac turns to Dennis with his arms akimbo, stern and disappointed, somehow. “This is your fault.”

“My fault? I’m dead!”

“You didn’t hide in time.”

He throws his hands up in defeat. “Oh, I’m sorry! If you weren’t so busy telling me to do things I was already in the middle of doing, maybe Charlie wouldn’t have seen me and passed out!” He exhales. “Forget it, just, forget it. He’s high out his ass anyway. He either won’t remember or you can tell him he was seeing things.”

Mac doesn’t answer, walks over to his phone and starts pressing at it.

“Mac? Mac, what are you doing?”

“I’m calling the gang.”

“The gang?”

“We can’t just let them think you’re dead, Dennis.”

“But I am dead,” he argues. He’s not sure he’s ready for the whole family reunion.

“If one of the others knew you were here and didn’t tell me, I would’ve been pissed too.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m not buying this, Dee,” Dennis sits defiantly on the couch. “There’s no way this works. This is a load of crap.”

“Crap?” Dee scoffs at him. “God, why am I even trying with this asshole?”

“Dennis, you’re a ghost possessing the body of another human being,” The Waitress, who is here, points out. Artemis is here too, by the way. Oh, yeah, they came along with Dee hauling Dennis’ body (which they had de-decomposed or recomposed if you’re fancy) to their apartment, claiming they could resurrect Dennis. “You really think it’s somehow crazier that resurrection exists?"

These are strange times.

“I didn’t have time to think about that.”

“So don’t think, you wimp. Just do.”

Dennis rolls his eyes. “I just don’t understand. If you could bring people back, why didn’t you do it before? I mean, mom’s dead. Why’s she still dead?”

Dee goes silent. “You really want me to bring mom back?”

“But you’d bring me back?”

“Mom was dead for far too long before I knew how to do this anyway,” she says dismissively, not giving a direct answer.

“That’s my next question,” Dennis stands up, “how do you know how to do this? There—it’s not like there’s some kind of school for it–“

“Well, not officially,” Artemis smiles sly. “It’s witchcraft."

His eyes widen, then he turns to look over him at Mac, silent, then Charlie, unconscious.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything about this?” He presses his lips together, unblinkingly, at Mac. “Anything at all?”

“I don’t know what to say.” Mac shrugs. “If they’re sure this works then I guess... do it. I kinda want you back. The whole you.” Mac lets his thoughts sink in. “Yeah, I...” he exhales, nearly letting it out as a sob. “God, I need you back dude. I miss you so fucking much.” He gets up and walks toward him, his legs shaking in a way only Dennis can see. “Yeah. I think you gotta do this. I mean, if they say it’s legit and they’ve done it before–“

“Oh yeah, totally, we, we’ve definitely done it before.”

There’s something Dennis doesn’t trust about Dee’s voice, something about it that sets off alarms he set as a child when they were growing up and all he really knew was how to read her. He wants to question it, wants to dig in deeper, wants to be worried, for the last remnants of a life he could still have is at stake but... could he deny Mac this?

Could he deny that he himself wants it too? To live out the rest of his days, properly, holding Mac, both of them relaxed, the tension of his death no longer hanging above their heads, the lack of his departure pushing down their shoulders, getting to breathe again, kissing Mac with his own lips, touching Mac with his own hands. So it’s not just about Mac. He wants this too.

And perhaps it’s not just Mac he wants to return to. It’s also the sister who’s desperately pleading with him to let her save him, let her help him, like how they used to be, how they used to prop each other up like a double act at a circus, where the audience was their parents and their parents were never impressed. Maybe he wants to be back in her life and maybe they were always miserable but he’s missed being miserable with her.

“I’ll do it.”

Mac gets up and helps a Charlie that’s clearly choking on his own spit. Right. He did that. Dennis is the reason why Charlie’s destroying himself harder than usual. They, all of them, would destroy themselves together, and because Dennis left, because Charlie thought he was gone for good, he decided to ruin himself twice as fast because Dennis wouldn’t be there to do his half.

Dennis is doing this for Charlie, too.

“I’m taking Charlie home,” Mac announces, pulling up the incoherent man, half-asleep and slurring the indiscernible. “He’s too messed up to be here for this.”

He’s not just talking about Charlie.

“Yeah, good,” The Waitress remarks as she drags the crate the three of them brought into the center of the room. “I don’t want him waking up and thinking I’m here to see him.”

“Besides, I’m not interested in casting a charm to make sure he forgets seeing–“ she flips it open with finesse, revealing Dennis’ corpse–“all this.”

Huh. His body looks almost alive. More so than when he last saw it.

“I know, we already went and healed your body when we stole it from the morgue. It’s ready—all it needs is its host.”

“Hmm.”

Mac shuts the door behind him, off to bring Charlie back to his apartment, where Frank’s probably passed out too, or perhaps he’s celebrating under a bridge, who knows, Dennis just hopes for the worst because at least he’ll expect it. Frank didn’t answer the phone when Mac called. Not that he cares. Not that it matters.

The faces on all the women—or is it better to refer to them solely as witches now—change immediately after Mac is gone and it worries Dennis. What if this isn’t his sister trying to resurrect him? What if it’s like a, a pagan sacrifice or something?

“What’s going on? I don’t like this.”

“We weren’t being entirely truthful earlier.”

Dennis crosses his arms. Not like it’s anything to brag about, but something... something about this all was just off. He knew something was up and he’s right. Not sure how that’s beneficial though.

“So, what now? You can’t bring me back? Why’d you say all that for?”

“It’s mostly for Mac to hear so he’d be cool with it, and so you’d say yes. After hearing how much he wants you to do this.”

Dee is a manipulative bitch. But he won’t lie, it’s what he would’ve done. She’s still a bitch though.

“You’re a bitch.”

“Yeah, I remember. I’m the same bitch that’s trying to save you, so watch it.”

“You just said you lied about that!”

“We’re not saying we can’t bring you back to life,” Artemis interjects, preparing some... there’s some crushing and mixing of stuff going on with her and The Waitress in the corner, but he can’t quite understand it.

“We just aren’t sure exactly how... that’s gonna play out,” continues The Waitress.

Now Dennis is even more confused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means... you _could_ be brought back to life just like that. Everything remains the same. Or our entire timeline could be deleted.”

“You mean we could—I could possibly not exist at all?”

“Oh, tell him the one where he could get put back in real life but this whole thing turns out to be a dream.”

“Or the one where he’s alive but he’s stuck in a dream for eternity.”

Dennis looks at Dee in a mix of conflicting emotions. “None of that is gonna happen! I mean, it probably won’t.”

“And how are you supposed to know that?”

“Look–“ Dee clears her throat–“I just know that trying is better than leaving you like this, okay?”

Her voice is all choked up, and Dennis knows she’s right. What’s the point of living if you’re already dead? And if it goes wrong... at least he wouldn’t know, would he?

“Look, if you really don’t wanna do this, I get it. I’m scared this will go wrong too. We could always lie to the others and pretend it worked and you can just keep, keep using this jerk and pretend you’re you. They’d all buy it anyway.”

“I’ll do it.”

He says this abruptly, he just... he’s just made his mind up now. He knows that this is the way to go, just like that. He doesn’t have to hear anymore. The risk is worth the life he threw away. The fear is worth the pain he misses.

“Okay.” She looks hopeful but solemn and reserved all at once. “Let’s begin.”

 

* * *

 

Dennis flings himself awake at the blaring sound of his alarm clock, nearly getting a heart attack from the shock. He really needs to change that, because wow, what a terrifying way to wake up. He feels like he’s just been ripped out his subconscious and it hurts somewhat. His body aches all over and he reeks with the combined fatigue of an overworked coal mine. He clears his throat, sore from the weather, and he slowly attempts to get up. He’s slept for ages but he’s still exhausted.

Slowly, he makes his way to the kitchen.

“You alright there now?”

Dennis piles his head on the table. “Yeah.”

“Heard ya screamin’ up there,” Mandy gives him a concerned glance, turns back and flips a pancake. “Anything to talk about?”

Dennis looks around the room, scanning in concern.

“He’s at daycare.”

“Oh. You said I was... screaming?”

She doesn’t seem like she’s upset with him about it. “We all get nightmares every now and then.” 

He tightens his eyes, concentrates. Nothing. “I think I forgot the whole thing. Nothing’s coming up.”

“Could be homesickness. Everyone misses home when they move away.”

Dennis presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Trust me, there was... nothing to miss.”

“Not even those friends of yours?”

The doorbell rings, over and over, and then a series of knocks pound against the door.

“I’m perfectly happy here, Mandy. Trust me, I’m planning to stick around.”

She looks down like she can’t really believe him.

“Who’s that at the door?”

Dennis shakes his head at the intrusion, shrugs, and gets up. “I should check that out.”

He walks to the door curiously, all the while thinking about how empty and strangely affected he feels. That must’ve been one hell of a nightmare.

He still can’t remember a thing.


End file.
